Tetraptych
by damageddementia
Summary: One night, four different stories. A shared drink, penis envy, chicken wings, and pee. What would you do with your partner that night? Styles/Wolfe, Williams/Magnus, Sabin/Shelley, Roode/Storm.


**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the following wrestlers, or any of the events that actually happened on camera, or anything else mentioned that is recognizable.**

**I respect the actual beliefs and sexualities of the following wrestlers.**

_A personal challenge. I got the idea from a friend's own tetraptych- Thorsmaven's incredible 'Talking 'Bout My Best Friend'. Each portion is connected only by the fact that they happened the same night and they're based around the idea of a team. Ratings of parts vary from T to M. Enjoy._

_....oh, and Desmond Wolfe? Maybe he's better not attempted.  
_

**Tetraptych**- A work of art in four parts.

* * *

**1.**

The sound of a bottle clunking down on the table forced Desmond Wolfe's gaze up. He glared at the man, obviously not expecting to get another drink. "I know you don't think I'm fucking paying for this," he said gesturing to the bottle.

He rolled his eyes, sighing. "I don't. Your friend at the bar ordered it for you." He walked away, wanting to get away from Desmond as soon as possible.

_Who?_ Desmond looked at the bottle, confused and intrigued by the idea of someone ordering him a drink. Perhaps it was some fame hungry little airhead who thought she'd take her chance with a superstar. He stood up, looking for a fake sultry smile pasted on a barely dressed tart, but he didn't spot one. All the women at the bar were either talking to a man or were too drunk themselves to think of sending a beer.

He kept scanning the bar, trying to figure out who had ordered the drink, when he caught sight of a familiar body. He was drinking his own beer, not paying attention to Desmond, but he was the only person he thought would possibly do it.

He grabbed the beer, popping the top and taking a sip as he walked over. Desmond had no idea that he had such good taste in beer. Definitely not something he'd think the celibate little God botherer would order.

He slipped into the stool next to AJ Styles, not saying anything at first, just waiting to see if AJ saw him coming. Finally, he said, "Were you expecting a thank you or something, sunshine?"

AJ didn't look at Desmond; he just shook his head. "You just looked thirsty, Des. Thought you'd like a beer after the night we had."

Desmond held back the need to make a pun after the night comment, especially since he knew exactly what AJ was talking about. Another night, another humiliation in the ring. Both them and the geriatric, laid out on the ring by one man as Hulk Hogan watched with a grin. And no pay off in sight. "So you just send drinks to everyone, then?"

"No. Just my coworker," AJ finally looked over at Desmond, a small smile on his face. "What, you don't want it?"

"I don't turn down a free drink." He brought the bottle up to his mouth, taking a long drink. He put it down and said, "So, what're you doing over here all alone? I thought AJ Styles always traveled with a pack of adoring women."

AJ snickered. "I wanted to have a quiet drink tonight, so I did."

"A man who turns down the company of women so he can spend the night with a bottle? You're a strange one, champ. Unless-" He smirked. "Unless, of course, you prefer the company of your boss."

"What, Dixie? She's a married woman, Des!"

"No, I'm speaking of Flair. Come on, be honest..." He playfully punched AJ's shoulder, still grinning. "Have you been riding in Flair's chair?"

AJ looked around, and then he leaned in, almost seeming to want to share a secret. Desmond leaned in also, and then AJ whispered "At least I haven't ridden in it as much times as you have."

"Shut your damn mouth." AJ just giggled, turning back to his drink. "I'm not the one Flair can't stop feeling up, Styles."

"What? You mean the taps on the shoulder? The way he squeezes my neck, the way he hugs me a little too long?" Desmond blinked; something about AJ's tone had changed. It sounded more reflective, and less joking. "I know what he's up to. He thinks he's the first one to think of it, getting 'special privileges' off his mentee." He drank from his beer, practically in a trance. "But I don't care. If him thinking he has a chance makes him work harder, then he can keep thinking like that." He finished his beer, slapping the bottle on the bar and wiping his mouth. "All I care about is what I actually agreed to do with this partnership; anything Flair thinks he'll get is his problem."

"You tipsy, Styles?"

"Not at all."

Desmond almost couldn't believe his ears. Part of him wondered if AJ was yanking him, but he doubted it. Something told him that AJ was being truthful with him- that certainly wasn't what he was expecting when he walked over here. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but he had no idea what to say after a speech like that. Finally, he said "And what if the gaffer gets more forward, what then AJ?"

"Then the partnership ends." AJ shrugged. "He knows what I agreed to; nothing more. He tries to take more, it's over."

Desmond stared for a moment, but then he just laughed. "You've got more balls than I gave you credit for, Styles."

"No guts, no glory. Besides... already told you. He wasn't the first. He won't be the last." AJ picked up his jacket, patting Desmond on the back. "See you around." AJ moved to stand up, but Desmond grabbed his arm, keeping him in place. "What?" AJ asked.

"Another round over here," Desmond shouted. He turned to AJ, smiling. "Now, do you really have to go so soon?" Desmond's hand went up, squeezing AJ's shoulder softly. "I'm not positive I know what we agreed to with _this _partnership." A moment of silence as Desmond waited for his answer. Finally, AJ returned his smile with one of his own.

"Well... I guess I can stay a little longer."

* * *

**2.**

"Hey, next time, would you care to remind me to lay off the hard shit?" Nick muttered, his arm wrapped around Doug's shoulder, his legs barely functioning. Doug just snickered, holding his friend up as he led him to their car.

"Lucky _one _of us can hold their liquor."

"HEY!" Nick shouted, and Doug waited for the rest of his response, but he seemed to forget it. He began laughing, and Doug snickered. The great Brutus Magnus couldn't even hold his own against a few drinks. "Where's the fucking rental, mate?"

"A bit of a ways off," Doug replied, "You were the one who decided we needed to park it in a lot."

"At least it's not being trashed by a couple of fucking hooligans or something..." He started laughing again, pointing at a tree. "Doesn't it look like a bloody cock?"

Doug stared at Nick, and then at the tree, which looked like... well... a tree. There was nothing remotely cock-like about it "No it fucking doesn't. It looks like a bloody tree." He half dragged, half carried Nick away from the tree, and he said, "How the fuck did you get this sloshed?"

"Well, mate, _someone_ should have cut me off before I reached here."

"I can't control your drinking if I'm tossing a few back as well, Nick."

Nick looked down, remembering how he wrapped his hand around drink after drink, watching Rob and Doug laughing and chatting together. Two guys, carrying championship gold, enjoying their spotlight. Without him. "If you weren't so distracted by your new best mate, then perhaps you could have."

Doug stopped walking, and the sudden change of movement jarred Nick's senses. He blinked, trying to gain his bearings, as Doug said, "What in fuck's name are you on about?"

"You and your new buddy, Rob. Flirting with each other all through the night. Toasting to each other's happiness and championships and whatnot."

"Flirting? What, is Princess Brutus jealous of Rob Terry?" He couldn't stop himself from laughing at his drunk friend.

"Hell if I'm jealous of Big Rob and his great miniature pecker..."

"Whoa, breathe Nick, you're about to tip yourself over." More chuckles filled the air. "As if the freak was worth my time. All he did was go on about his fucking muscles and his title, as if I gave a shit about either. All I wanted was my fucking drink, and the sheep fucker wanted a bloody conversation."

Doug shook his head, trying to stop himself from laughing. "What, feeling a little envious since Rob and I got straps? Nick, your turn is on it's way. I mean, if Rob can get one, then certainly you can."

"Wha's that supposed to mean, Doug?"

"I'm just saying, if someone like Rob can get one..."

"No. Are you saying I'm not on your level?"

"That's _implied_, Nick. But there's sparse few on my level; no need to get sensitive about it."

"I'm getting to be just as good as you," Nick said, pointing more at the tree than at Doug. Doug grabbed his finger and pointed it at him, and Nick said, "Don't correct me; maybe I was pointing that way for a reason!"

"Perhaps one day, mate, you can measure up to the Finest Thing in Life," Doug said, putting up an arm and making a muscle, "But for now, just watch the men and play with your toys..." Doug trailed off, his eyes widening in shock. He tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. What else was there to do when your friend did that in the middle of the road?

Nick grinned, his pants and his boxers around his ankles. Finally, something to shut Doug up with. "That's a man's knob, Doug." Suddenly, his grin faded, and he turned to the side, throwing up. He was about to trip over his pants, but Doug grabbed him, helping him so that none of the goo hit him.

"At least you remembered to aim left."

* * *

**3.**

"Man, I swear I just saw Brutus Magnus pull out his wiener."

"You're fucking drunk, man."

"So are you." Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley laughed at themselves; they shared a disability to take anything seriously, and at their level of intoxication, they took even less. Maybe that meant Chris shouldn't be driving, but who cared? They were hungry, and it was not like they were going to walk to get food.

Chris pulled over by a diner, the neon "CHICKEN WINGS" sign exciting him. He glanced over at Alex, and was glad to see his mind was on the same thing; chicken. Juicy, fresh, hot chicken. With crispy skin, delicious crispy chicken skin...

"Pull over, fucker," Alex whispered. Chris nodded quickly, parking the car as best as he could, but still somehow managing to get a wheel halfway onto the sidewalk. But the two men didn't seem to care how lopsided the car was.

They entered the restaurant, the small amount of people there allowing them to get a table quickly. As soon as they sat, a perky blond waitress bounced over to the table and handed them the menus.

"Hey there..." Alex squinted, trying to read her name tag, "Hey, HellomynameisKelly."

The waitress laughed, unsure if Alex was joking or something. "Would you like to hear the specials, or do you just want to look over the menu?"

"Actually, lady, we need neither," Chris said, and then he burped. He grinned at her obvious disgust before continuing. "What we need is chicken wings. The bucket. Not the platter, not a little box, or any other kind of thing you got... we want the bucket. And two cokes. Carbonated cokes."

"Isn't that a given, sir?"

"You'll be surprised how many gimp on the carbonation," Alex said, smiling, "How about you bring those in bottles so you don't screw it up? And don't open the bottles; we can do that."

Obviously, the poor girl wasn't ready for something like this tonight. She just kept smiling, although it wasn't the same perfect smile she had before. She left after asking if they needed anything else, and, as soon as she was gone, Alex put his hands over his chest, holding up an imaginary rack.

"Oh hai there, how can I help you today? Chicken, soda, blow job?" He mimicked her voice, although it sounded more like Mickey Mouse than the small blond waitress. Alex laughed at his own joke, but then he was cut off when he feels Chris' fingers against his leg.

"Blow job...? I'd actually like that too, HellomynameisKelly."

Alex swatted his hand away, grinning. "No, I'm HellomynameisAlex. Keep your busty waitresses straight."

"Well sorry miss... can I call you Hel?"

"No, you can't. You lost the privilege," Alex stood up, sending a mischievous smirk Chris' way, "But you could help a lady find the bathroom."

"It'd only be right." Chris got up and followed Alex to the bathroom- there was no way even Alex could miss the giant sign with the people on it that stood for the bathroom. The door was right at the front of the hallway, and Alex opened it, going into the bathroom. It was pretty clean for a restaurant bathroom, and he grinned. Perfect.

He waited for Chris to enter the bathroom, and, when he realized Chris wasn't going to, he opened the door and grabbed his arm. Alex pulled him inside and shoved him against the wall. "I didn't want you to really help me find the bathroom, doofus." Alex pushed his lips into Chris', and Chris automatically responded, kissing him back.

Soon, hands were tangled around each other, and tongues were wrestling each other. Chris pushed off the wall, bringing Alex over to the toilet. Alex allows himself to be pushed down onto the toilet, and Chris fell to his knees quickly. "I thought I was supposed to give you the ol' sucky sucky," Alex giggled, watching Chris unzip his pants.

"Count your blessings, Shelley. Not everyone gets a little head from me."

"Hail Sabin," he said sarcastically, but it fell to a moan when he felt Chris' mouth around him. Alex brought an arm up to his mouth, biting down on it as Chris began sucking around his length roughly. Chris looked up, aroused himself at the sight of Alex holding back his moans, and he increased the suction, feeling Alex harden in his mouth.

Suddenly, a loud banging filled the bathroom. Alex and Chris' eyes met, and Chris pulled his mouth off of Alex's cock. He wiped his mouth, smiling widely before saying, "Occupado."

"GET OUT IMMEDIATELY!" A stern male voice shouted. Chris shook his head and signaled to Alex to turn around. Alex grinned back, doing as he was told.

"I need a few minutes," Chris said, closing the distance between himself and Alex. He put an arm around Alex's waist and wrapped his hand around Alex's cock, jerking it roughly. Alex sucked on his lip, keeping back the laughter and the moans both threatening to come out.

"NO! Come out NOW!"

They ignored the order and kept going, the yelling still audible through the door. He was threatening to get the key, but neither man really cared if he actually did or not. Finally, Alex released onto the toilet seat, his cum splashing on the toilet seat. After a few moments of relaxing to the sounds of the pounding on the door, Chris quickly washed his hand and Alex cleaned himself off a little, ignoring the knocks. As soon as they were done, they opened the door, and Alex bent over.

"Ooh, I was feeling sick," he said, in the worst imitation of sickness ever.

" You two _are _sick," the man said, his face so red that it was purple, "Now get out of here. I don't want to see you on this premises again."

Alex and Chris grinned at each other. "Of course, sir," Chris said, "We'll be on our way." They began walking for the door, waiting for the eventual...

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

The Machine Guns began running, laughing and delighting in the screams of disgust. They passed by their waitress and, seeing her carrying their bucket, Chris snatched it. "Thank you!" he shouted, as Alex grabbed the bottles of coke and followed him out.

"Wait, you haven't paid for that..."

"Stop those sick mother..."

But before anyone could stop them, Chris and Alex were jumping into the car, both through the front seat. Chris crawled to the passenger's seat while Alex settled in the driver's. Chris passed Alex a chicken wing, and they began driving off as quickly as possible, laughing at the sight of the yelling man in their rear view mirror.

* * *

**4.**

"You know you're impossible, right?" Robert Roode called out, "James, another car just passed! Have you no shame?"

James Storm could hear his partner, sure, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the pressure in his stomach. "Oh hang onto your peach fuzz and cool it, Bobby. Who cares?"

"I do, I..." Robert groaned, hearing the sound of a steady stream of water. "Damn it, James!"

"Sometimes, you just gotta let loose the tank, Bobby." James turned to look at Robert, holding his pants around his thighs so he could piss without them getting in the way. "It was either this or I was gonna make a swimming pool in your car. I still got some suds in the ol' sack, if that's what ya want, Bobby."

"...On second thought, you go ahead and piss on that tree."

Some snickers came from behind the tree, and suddenly, Robert heard the voice again over the sound of pee hitting a tree. "You wanna see me push that can, Bobby? I bet I can get it around this here tree. Whaddaya say?"

"I say you should finish so we can leave."

"Whatsa matter, Bobby, Mother Nature smacked you in the uterus? Pull the tampon outta your clam and just hold it. Can't rush relief." Soon, the sound began to die, and James came into prominence. He zipped up his pants and grinned at Robert. "All taken care of. See? Cake."

"Whatever. Get your ass in the car before I leave you." Robert opened the door to his car, getting comfortable in the driver's seat. In seconds, James took his place in the passenger's seat, grinning and slapping the dashboard.

"What a night, eh? Good match, good food, good drink... good everything!" He snickered. "Speaking of good drink..." James opened the front compartment, pulling out a half drunken bottle of beer. "Bottoms up!" Before he could open the top, the drink was snatched out of his hand. He turned to Robert. "Now Bobby Roode, you better give that back."

"You're already pissing on trees. No way I'm going to let you be a mess tomorrow."

"Oh come on, you ol' twat rag, I'm gonna be alright in the AM." His hand stretched out, but Robert brought the bottle away from it.

"You want this?" Robert opened the beer and held it out. The gesture made a big grin appear on James' face, and he reached for the bottle, just to see it pulled away again. "No, I don't think I'll let you have it." Robert slowly lifted the bottle up to his lips, taking a long sip, before pulling it away and letting out an 'ah'. "That's good, I can see why you drink so much."

"That's downright cruel, Bobby Roode. Come on, just a little to wet my tongue. Just give it here."

Robert watched James beg and pout, a smug smirk on his face the whole time. He brought the bottle up to his lips, reveling in the crestfallen look on James' face. _Maybe I should do this more often..._

Robert moved the bottle away again and, suddenly, his lips were against James'. James immediately returned the kiss, blinking as he tasted some beer fall into his mouth. That son of a bitch did not just yank his chain like that. But he didn't really care. He just drank the beer, enjoying the taste of his two favorite things in the world- the drink and Robert Roode.

James pulled away, licking his lips. "You're one evil bastard, you know that?"

"You know what they say, it pays to be rude." Robert capped the bottle, throwing it into the back before beginning to drive. James was right; what a night indeed.


End file.
